(2023/11/18) Author's Note: Hey everyone!
I hope you like this latest chapter! Writing this one wasn't as difficult as the last, so I hope to keep up the same (or better) momentum moving forward. I'm debating if I should continue with the POV chapters or continue with third person omniscient - which I sort of prefer, to be honest. Hmm, what to do! Anyways, next chapter is coming out in a few weeks - maybe I'll try for two in December? I've been feeling really good lately in my headspace from a change in routine. Yoga is super fun and I love it! Running is fun, too - once you pass the "omg I can't BREATHE!" part. Allergies will do that do. I also found out I'm severely allergic to dust mites and every pollen imaginable, so that's fun I guess. I had to buy an air purifier. But it has a nightlight, so that's cool (lol).
Also I just wanted to say I've been taking some time to go back and read all the comments I've gotten on this fic series over the years and I just wanted to say thank you for reading my fics :') I also just wanted to say if you like what you read, you can always tell me - or other authors you are reading - but you're obligated to do as you wish! I'm super awkward and shy online so I should probably take my own advice, but here it is just in case!
As always, thank you for reading! xx
Content advisory: some implied smut
Chapter 34
Ill Tidings
Air moved stiffly down into his lungs as he meditated with eyes closed before an adorned altar.
The Sand Temple hummed in serene silence, with only the flicker of torches and braziers echoing distantly from where the Kazekage and Benkei meditated in calm focus. Benkei was reciting his prayers to the desert gods with his whispers while Gaara struggled to completely tune out the monk beside him. Silence did not come easy to him. His mind was always wrought with noise. Whether it was Shukaku when he was a jinchuriki, the stresses of being the Fifth Kazekage, or thoughts about his family and their approaching enemies, thinking in silence was nearly impossible. He wondered if Nomasaki could meet her other self, if she was successful – if she failed.
He pushed the thought out – he knew she could never fail.
She was strong.
She could do it.
He hoped that by the time the monk deemed their meditation done, Nomasaki would emerge from the chamber doors with her task completed. But until then, he had to wait. And wait and suffer performing a task he was already sick of was enough. He breathed in, keeping his eyes closed, and exhaled the temple's dry, arid air. And miraculously – silence. He felt peace from all the noise that plagued his thoughts and soon began to feel the meditation was not an entirely lost cause.
A pulse of dark chakra flickered beyond his closed eyes.
The presence was vile, ill, and vengeful. It was pure malice. A bloodlust awakened. The thirst… - Gaara's silent thoughts were once more interrupted. Keeping his eyes shut, he was reminded of his bond with Shukaku. When he was tethered as its jinchuriki. It was all a distant memory to him now – being brought back by whatever was beckoning to him in solitude. He tried to push his mind's focus away from the intruding aura, but the force persisted. It clawed his own psyche, pouring its energy into his own.
"Gaara… Hey, runt…" A low, monstrous voice growled. "The kettle… Focus your mind there… The kettle…"
Shukaku, He realized.
It was the one-tail itself, speaking to him in his mind's eye.
His memory flickering behind his closed ringed-eyes, he thought of the path through the temple. He imagined the stairs, the ornate red and gold tapestries, the torches and braziers, and the gigantic chamber doors where his wife was imprisoned. Then his memory drifted towards the sealed altar where the black, aged kettle lay beside holy relics.
The kettle…
An urge to open his eyes overcame him, and when Gaara did, he found himself in the familiar chamber of darkness.
Still water was below his feet, and towering over him was the grisly and demonic form of Shukaku itself. It stunned him momentarily, but he soon found himself warmed to see his old companion again – and to be removed from the boring meditation practice he was thrust into.
Shukaku bellowed, amused to again see their former jinchuriki. "That's much better! I was starting to think our connection was severed entirely!"
"Shukaku! How did… -," Gaara suddenly realized. "The kettle must contain some remnant of your chakra."
"Hmph! More than you, it seems." The beast eyed him smugly. "You feel more human than ever… it doesn't suit you for someone with a chakra such as yours."
Gaara ignored the jest, keeping a stoic face. "What seems to be the problem? Is freedom not all that it's cracked up to be?"
"Bah! You wish!" Shukaku's drunkard nature turned dire – serious. The beast's masked eyes peered into the curious gaze of its former host, foreboding in warning. "I've come to warn you what's happening in the desert. Chakra is gathering… a dark chakra, almost as terrible as my own! But it's no tailed-beast. It's something different. Something foreboding…"
Alarmed, Gaara narrowed his glance. "Something that even you feel threatened?"
"It's a dark power I haven't sensed since the birth of my being," Shukaku confessed, growling under its breath, quaking the water beneath them. "Primordial… beginning and end… It's brewing somewhere I can't quite see for myself…" The beast leaned over its massive paws, narrowing its ghastly eyes. "We may be separated, but it would be in your best interest to tap into our realm when you can… The desert is a vast place, much is lost, and much is seen…"
"Shukaku -,"
Before Gaara could say more, the realm began to darken.
Swallowing all in shadow.
The beast's chakra turned faint, the calling of the kettle quieting under a murmur of human voices. Darkness soon blanketed the realm they once shared, veiling Gaara's sight into void. He blinked as if trying to force his way through the black – but to no avail.
"I must go. Gaara, keep your wits about you…"
"Kazekage-sama?"
Benkei's voice drew him back.
"You suddenly stood and made your way to the kettle. Is… everything alright?"
When Gaara opened his eyes, he was standing before the kettle's high place on the sealed altar. It took him off guard to see what influence the aura had over his consciousness. Did I walk all the way here? He blinked again, making sure he was grounded by reality. Examining his open palms, he saw the flecks of sand swimming between them and marvelled. This kettle… It has a power even I can't fully understand. To be able to summon the thoughts of Shukaku… - he pushed out the thought.
He lowered his arms and kept his gaze locked ahead in stoicism. He shook his head, answering without looking at the monk. "Nothing. It was just Shukaku."
"Shukaku?" Benkei blinked. "You mean you can -?"
The kettle exerted its awful presence over him, taunting him almost. Gaara glared at it, wishing it could sense his anger at its coy torment. After all, it was just a container for a beast that no longer needed it. Perhaps it was bitter, left so empty for centuries. He scoffed under his bitter breath. "Now and then. However, the kettle being so close seemed to tempt the beast." He finally turned to the monk, his expression blank and still as stone. "Can you take me to my wife? I think we should be leaving."
Benkei nodded. "Of course, Kazekage-sama. It's been well over a few hours, so I assume Nomasaki-sama has completed her meditations – if all has gone well, hopefully."
"If I may ask you something," Gaara's voice drew his curiosity instantly. Narrowing his glance, Gaara met the young monk. "The phrase 'time is cardinal'… Is that a phrase in the faith of the desert gods?"
"Hmm… Not entirely, no."
Gaara kept a curse behind his lips.
"However, 'cardinal' for us may refer to the holy number of thirteen, as our desert cradle of life was created in a span of thirteen days. Perhaps the phrase in question means thirteen days, months, years, even. In thirteen years, the planets are said to align. A sacred time of our faith, where the world returns to the same state as its creation – when our gods made life in the cradle of this desert."
Gaara's eyes widened slightly at the notion.
A celestial event – a sacred time.
Benkei pondered. "What do you think, Kazekage-sama?"
Thirteen years… It had to be years, Gaara realized.
And suddenly, all the puzzle pieces were falling into place.
When the next meeting with the Hokage would be called, there would be grounds for revisiting the Tenbu discussion. And on how to destroy the cultists once and for all. Gaara relished for the day after all they had done to his family and village. And he knew Nomasaki would take it upon herself to bring a means to an end no matter the risk. It would be a day of reckoning – even if waiting thirteen years was to be the cost.
Gaara tuned out his emotions, clutching his arm forcefully enough to flex the muscle. He turned to Benkei, exchanging a calm glance and a nod. "Sounds about right… Thank you."
A thunderous groan rumbled.
The light from its sacred chambers beamed into the temple corridor. Soon, the light vanished, and footsteps echoed as a figure grew closer. The pace was light – eager, even. Gaara turned instinctively and was relieved to see his wife approaching. Nomasaki's cheeks were stained with dried tears, but her lips were curved into a wide, beaming smile. Her fangs glistened in the torchlight as if to tell of her triumph. His chest tightened, and seeing her pace turn from walking to running made him overwhelmingly hopeful for her news.
"Nomasaki, did you…?"
"I did it, I did it!" She ran into his waiting arms, and he held her tightly to his chest. She laughed despite the tears that persisted. She felt his hand place itself on the back of her golden head, weaving through her long strands. "I met her, and she was everything I was… I completed the training. It worked just as I hoped. Even though I'm not a jinchuriki, I was still able to do it… I'm so relieved."
He held her tighter, resting his forehead on hers. "I'm so proud of you," He opened his eyes and could not help but smile at her beaming face. "I knew you could do it, Nomasaki."
"Thank you for believing in me," She rested her face against his shirt, taking in his comforting scent. "You're a good husband…"
He grinned. "I try,"
Nomasaki smiled, nuzzling in further.
Relieved, Benkei relayed the success to his master and escorted the Kazekage and his wife from the temple. Shijima met them outside, waiting within the shadows as the sun soon set over the desert village. Nomasaki waved to the young monk as they left, and Benkei assured her that if she ever wanted to pray or talk, he would be waiting. She was grateful for their new friend in the Sand Temple – even if it was for gods that did not listen to her pleas. From now until the end of her mortal life, the old gods of her mountain now held her in their grip. With hands joined, Gaara and Nomasaki departed for the Kazekage's courtyard.
And made it to the comfort of their home.
A spring breeze carried warmth over the desert lands.
Nomasaki rose from bed shortly after Gaara said his morning goodbyes for his duties. An odd sort of energy filled her veins for the first time in what almost seemed to be years. Dread and anxiety had not greeted her when she took in the day's birth – thankfully, absent. Confidence surged, propelling her to dress with a forgotten excitement. Acceptance of oneself was a powerful thing. She tightened the thin sash over her waist and observed the muscle tone that returned to her arms and legs. A seasoned hunter, a shinobi – a warrior. She only gave birth a few months ago, but her form was stronger than ever. She felt as if she could burst stone with a single closed fist. She saw her lips curve into a crooked smile, seeing the gleaming white fangs shine in the morning sunlight. And if she could believe her own thoughts, Nomasaki felt she had grown into a stronger person.
There was light and dark – but one could not exist without the other.
They were one and the same.
She touched the glass, gazing back into her violet eyes. I'm whole… I'm the person I always wanted to be. It broke her heart to think back to the meek, frightened girl who collapsed in the desert sands. She wondered if the girl would be relieved to know of her future – or terrified. Her smile faded, despair and uncertainty plaguing her once confident expression. And now all that's left… is the ritual.
Her heart sank.
…and Temujin…
"Nomasaki! You home?"
"Come in! I'm just about ready,"
Meiyumi's voice called her to the nursery, where she greeted her friend and said good morning to her children. Kyokuro repeated the greeting, and Setsuka began crying to be nursed. Lovingly, she sat Kyokuro on her knee and nursed the youngest. Kyokuro ate his mashed squash with gusto, getting the orange mush all over his rosy cheeks. It took Setsuka well over fifteen minutes to be fed. Any sooner, and the infant would wail uncontrollably. Meiyumi changed the bedding in the nursery and prepared the play area for Kyokuro and his blocks.
Nomasaki appreciated everything Meiyumi did for her and the children, but an inevitable part of her was ridden with guilt. The guilt was not only for burdening her best friend with nanny duties, but it was the guilt of herself. Nomasaki knew she was not a neglectful mother, but she felt terrible when she had to leave her children in the care of others. But she was a shinobi. And there were hundreds of shinobi mothers in Sunagakure – more in recent years. Meiyumi assured her it was alright, and she was more than happy to step into her godmother role.
Nomasaki exhaled, hoping the guilt would leave.
After taking a laughing Kyokuro in her arms, Nomasaki kissed the crown of his red head and lay Setsuka in her crib for her nap. She poked her baby's cheek and promised to return soon, and she hugged her son, pressing her cheek against his and said they could play blocks when she was back – and that his father would be home, too. Kyokuro seemed to understand, smiling and giggling with his tiny hand in Meiyumi's as she waved in departure.
It would not be long – and the training grounds were not far.
The Sealing Corps was quiet as a tomb – just as she wanted.
"Are you sure about this, my lady?" Shijima was hesitant. "You just gave birth three months ago."
Nomasaki nodded, a light smile on her clear features. "Meiyumi gave me the medical-clear to resume our training, so I would say so. Besides…" From the scabbard on her hip, she unsheathed Onikiri. The white mystical blade glimmered in the sun like starlight, shining as if a heavenly beacon. She held its pommel firmly, her muscles locked and unshaken, still as stone. She smiled, proud of her progress. "It's been a while since I've last used a blade. I want to see how Onikiri handles in battle."
Shijima blinked when she noticed the blade. If she was not concealing her face with a mask over her lips, her mouth would have fallen open. Such a brilliant sword! Even I can sense its energy… it's purity… - Shijima snapped out of her daze.
Taking her stance, she readied herself with her own blade. "Very well, then. Let us begin!"
And so, they sparred.
The fight proceeded as it did the first time.
As expected, shortly after distancing themselves and readying their stances, Shijima struck first. Wind blew when Nomasaki turned on her heel to block with Onikiri, grinding Shijima's strike to a halt. Before Nomasaki could return the favour, the Hoki woman jumped back and flew above – swinging her blade down. Nomasaki ducked and rolled behind, swinging her legs and knocking Shijima off her feet. She landed with a thud, tucking and rolling back to a crouched form.
Nomasaki circled her with Onikiri dancing in her grip, smug.
Shijima dusted off the sand from her black pants, snickering. "I should have known… Your signature unorthodoxy, my lady."
"I couldn't help myself," Nomasaki smirked back, watching her opponent return to form. "I saw the opening, and I had to take it."
And their spar resumed.
Nomasaki and Shijima fought with such speed and strength that some of the guards stationed at the gates paused to watch. The sound of steel clashing filled the desert air. Onikiri's heavenly gleam shone brighter than the sun itself, and by noon, both kunoichi were trying to catch their breaths. The match was close to call – too close. The wind brushed Nomasaki's cheek as she parried Shijima's strike. As swift as the spring breeze, Nomasaki managed to weave her hand over Shijima's wrist and disarm her before she had the chance to realize.
And the spar was over.
Shijima yielded, and Nomasaki gave a light smirk as she lowered her drawn blade. Sheathing Onikiri into its scabbard, she stepped toward her sparring partner and handed her the stolen blade. Shijima sheathed it, and the two kunoichi bowed – signifying the match was done.
"Fine moves, my lady. You're as sharp as ever, might I say."
"And unlike the last time, I didn't descend into panic." Nomasaki smiled, a hint of pride on her lips. "Or vomit, either."
Shjima hesitated a laugh, her stoic nature getting the best of her. She started for the sandstone benches, eyeing the bottle of water she left before the spare. "Let's rest a bit before moving on,"
Nomasaki obliged, following suit.
Resting Onikiri along the cracked pillar, she joined her bodyguard on the sandstone slab. It was the perfect time to tell Shijima everything about the Sand Temple – so Nomasaki told her all that she could remember. She told her of the sacred chambers, the charred ash tree, and the terrible, beautiful woman who looked like her but was not – red eyes and all. The battle that ensued, the moment she took her dark side into her arms and embraced her as strongly as she could. And how her own soul soared with hope that they had finally become one – whole. Shijima sat and took in the news, awed and amazed.
Her interest was piqued.
The part that intrigued the Hoki woman the most was when Nomasaki talked about how she managed to show her dark side all her memories – memories of her loved ones and her mortal life. Shijima leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs and cupping her chin in her entwined fingers, deep in thought.
"I see… So, you've attempted Memory Reflection?"
Nomasaki was confused. "Memory Reflection?"
"It's sort of… a type of genjutsu defence." Shijima bit her lip, trying to gather the proper explanation. She felt Nomasaki's curious glance upon her, reminding her she had to give an answer. "For those who are trapped inside a genjutsu where the caster is attempting to force the victim's own memories, the victim can then curate their own memories – happy ones, for example – and nullify the jutsu through Memory Recollection, as we genjutsu users call it. Memory Recollection will bring the victim out from the jutsu and back into battle." Shijima stared ahead at the fuinjutsu inscriptions that lay upon the cracked sandstone wall. "What you just said about when you faced your dark side… it sounds to me like you've done Memory Reflection and put those thoughts before the eyes of your enemy, allowing them to see what you've seen. It's a rare and difficult thing to do, even for those of us with ocular ninjutsu like myself." Shijima nearly scoffed, amazed at the circumstances. "The fact that you were able to do so is… incredible, to say the least."
"Really?" Nomasaki sat wide-eyed and bewildered. She rested her back against the sandstone, looking up at the high ceiling in careful thought. "I just… was so angry and upset – I had to show my dark side how wrong she was about everything. So, I thought I should show her… and next thing I knew, she saw my memories, and the confrontation ended."
Shijima inclined her head, a blonde wave of hair falling over her sealed eye. She tossed it aside, hiding it under her hood. "Interesting,"
"What is it, Shijima?"
"Nomasaki-sama, I may have another technique we can learn. A genjutsu defence, similar to the memory reflection." She turned to her, seriousness coating her tone. "It may prove useful to you – especially knowing how dangerous a foe Genji is. It's quite possible that something like this can stop him – and protect you."
Nomasaki thought her heart was about to skip a beat. "What do you have in mind?"
"Memory Intrusion," Shijima sighed, leaning back on the bench. She crossed her arms, choosing to look ahead at the ancient inscriptions. "It's another rare method of genjutsu defence-turned offence. With Memory Recollection, you recall your own memories. With Memory Reflection, you take those memories and force the caster to see them with their own eyes. And with Memory Intrusion, you force your thoughts into the caster's mind, and you can then see their memories – before they have a chance to see yours. It's a difficult technique, even for those skilled in the genjutsu arts. But it's a useful choice of defence when pitted against someone using memory-based genjutsu. You could see their memories and potentially a way out from battle."
Nomasaki blinked, stunned. "I can… see their memories? But… how is that possible? I'm not a good genjutsu user -,"
"That may be," Shijima admitted. "But you can now take control of the situation and turn the tide! This is just as important, even if your skills in genjutsu is a zero."
Thanks for the reminder, Nomasaki huffed internally.
"You have nature-energy in your veins, my lady." Shijima pointed out. "Even if your genjutsu abilities are… lacking, your blood alone gives you power over your foes. It predates chakra – it can command chakra. Use it to your advantage. Force your way into your enemy's mind, see their memories – and gain the upper hand. Have you ever found yourself in a situation such as this, where you pushed yourself into the mind of another while under genjutsu?"
But as she thought, she found herself suddenly remembering a day that was once long forgotten. It was dusk – the encroaching of nightfall. She had been training with Temari all day and was summoned to the Kazekage's estate by a Suna-nin – summoned by the Kazekage himself. Nomasaki was sixteen then, and so was Gaara. And as they spoke within the Kazekage's office chambers, something terrible happened. The world before her eyes turned dark as void, and water sloshed around her ankles. Towering over her when she opened her eyes was the monstrous demon tanuki, roaring violently and thundering the water into infinite waves of malice. In one moment, she was grounded in reality, while in the next, she found herself brought into the psyche of a jinchuriki and his tailed-beast.
She intruded into their shared realm.
All she remembered happening was that she blinked.
Terror shivered its way down her spine. There was that time I accidentally forced myself into the realm where Gaara and Shukaku meet… can I really do this? She swallowed the fear, blinking it away as she stood from the rigid sandstone. "Actually… yes. It was a long time ago, back when Gaara was a jinchuriki."
"Oh?"
Nomasaki nodded. "I… sort of intruded on the realm where Shukaku lay dormant inside of Gaara." The memory haunted her. "It wasn't a genjutsu, but… something pulled me in."
Shijima was shocked. Nomasaki could tell from how her shoulders shifted, and her chakra trembled. The Hoki turned to her, bewildered. "Do you remember how it happened?"
Sighing, Nomasaki shook her head.
"Then this is a good time to begin your training as any,"
"Where do we start?"
"As usual," Shijima stretched her arms as she gained her footing, starting for the chamber's centre. "I'll activate my Sharingan, but this time, I want you to try to force my mind out of yours. Then assert your ground and try to see my thoughts." When Shijima turned, she noticed that Nomasaki was hasty to begin. It pleased her. She removed her thick glasses and untied the cloth that bound her sight. Keeping her eyes closed, she smirked under her masked lips. "Are you ready, my lady?"
Nomasaki nodded. "Ready as I'm going to be," Her fists fidgeted in her wide sleeves, her heels hardening onto the sandstone. "Try me!"
When Shijima snapped open her blood-red eyes, the markings within it swirled into the Mangekyo. Nomasaki was locked in instantly, gripped by its monstrous power. She felt the world closing in on her, the skies turning red and the earth turning black. Death. Panic pounded through her heart, thumping against her ribcage. Her breath was cold, too. Nomasaki tried to force her way through the eyes that stared back at her, but something invisible threw her to the winds.
Nomasaki's back struck the sandstone, and she spat a curse through her fanged teeth.
"You're too hasty," Shijima warned. "You need to force me back. Think of how you did it during your meditation training. Think of the sacred chambers, what you saw in the Sand Temple. Your dark side."
"I'm trying -,"
Shijima shook her head. "Try harder, my lady! You must force me back!"
As she pulled herself up, rage seethed from Nomasaki's lips. Her wolfish temper was rising. "Don't make me angry, Shijima! I'm still not completely over you abandoning your post back then!"
"Then think of that, my lady." Shijima diverted, keeping calm. "Let your emotions fuel your defences." She prepared her stance, seeing Nomasaki do the same. "Again! I'm going to enter your mind,"
"Not if I have anything to say about it!"
Shijima did not hold back.
She unleashed her Mangekyo for a second time. Its malice and intent swirled around Nomasaki's psyche, forcing and pulling her to its will. She felt its everlasting gaze upon her, sleuthing through her own thoughts. Holding her ground, Nomasaki imagined a shield separating them – blocking her mind from its eerie red gaze. Force thundered against it, pushing her back in her stance. She gnashed her barred fangs, clenching her clawed fists and roared so loud the very black earth quaked.
A beast's howl.
Her own shield shattered – but her gaze flew directly into the red eyes that stared her down.
And she was inside.
Everything was grey and blurry before Nomasaki's eyes.
Sound was muffled, shapes distorted, and all other worldly sensations had left her. She tried to blink – to move, but she was anchored where she was. And it was then she realized she was within Shijima's mind – inside her memories.
A man's voice bellowed down from above, towering over the quivering child.
"Shijima, your lack of focus is an embarrassment! Even your sister – three years your junior – is able to perform the jutsu passed down in our household! You are a failure to the Hōki name."
Her view shuddered, weeping. "I'm… trying, father."
"It's not acceptable! If only you were a son, you would have been the hope of our clan. But the desert gods cursed me with two daughters… and the eldest is the least gifted in our ancient skills. If you are to be of any use to our people, you must train harder!" The man struck his staff to the wooden floor, the force rumbling through the girl's bones. "Come at me again! Fix your form, straighten your stance!"
"Y-Yes, father!"
Her vision blurred, distorted into another memory.
Incense burned, voices were silent, and the sky was overcast.
It was a funeral. Members of the Hoki household and its sworn lieges gathered in the village temple for the service. It was a sombre event. Her own view was marred by tears, her vision shaky and quivering. Nomasaki's view was hazy, but the more she focused, the more she suddenly saw. Laying in eternal rest was a woman of black hair and elegant beauty – and concealed by a tiny coffin at her side was supposedly an infant. Nomasaki's heart sank, understanding the circumstance. It was Shijima's mother, the matriarch – and she had died from birthing a stillborn male heir. Shijima's father stood silently the entire service, his face not mired by grief or anger. He was apathetic. Rage filled Nomasaki's heart.
But before she could witness anything more, her vision clouded.
It was dark.
She could faintly hear the dripping of water along stone, the roaring of braziers in the distance, and the silent howl of a draft. Without even seeing for herself, Nomasaki knew instantly that she was underground. When her vision lifted, she saw Shijima's father standing beside her, holding Shijima's hand. His gaze was fixated on something ahead, his lips curved into a slight grin. Anticipation, it seemed. Something struck Nomasaki's instincts, warning her to flee. And when her vision followed the Hoki patriarch's gaze, her instincts were realized.
Orochimaru.
The snake.
The vermin.
Nomasaki's blood boiled, wishing she could lash out and kill the snake in one strike. But her current state forbade her, so she could do nothing but sit back and watch as the horror unfolded. Approaching from the shadows, the white-faced creature drew close, grinning ear to ear as it took in the sight of the patriarch and his young daughter. Shijima was only ten.
Ten years old.
Nomasaki grew angrier.
Her view shuddered. "Father, who is…?"
"My eldest daughter, as you requested." Her father spoke to the snake. "And this jutsu, the Sharingan… it is compatible?"
Orochimaru sneered. "Only time will tell," His voice was like murderous velvet – dark. "Experiments such as these aren't ones to be rushed, you know. Best case scenario is she has the Uchiha's gift. Second case is blindness… and third, of course… is death."
Shijima shuddered, gripping her father's hand tight.
And just like that, her father released her – casting her towards the snake in the shadows. Shijima fell face-first onto the stone floor, shaking and weeping as the snake approached further. She turned back to her father, panic rising. "Father, don't make me go!"
"Shijima, it's your duty to do as I say!" He glared into her frightened eyes from afar. "This is for the good of your people! Now, do as I say… and accept your fate!"
And her father disappeared into the darkness.
"Father, no!"
Darkness overtook her vision.
Blinking slowly, years must have passed.
Her vision was red, and the faint outline of the sealing cloth was over her sight. Shijima was released from the snake's clutches, but her view was hardened. Broken. Shijima must have been a teenager by this point, her arms toned with her shinobi training, and her kneeling position on the wooden floor of the great hall was precise and balanced. A blade rested in a sheath on her back, its weight pushing her down slightly.
She had a private audience with her father – while her younger sister sat at their father's right. Hakuto was maybe fourteen by Nomasaki's judgement and beautiful beyond her years. Yet her ocean blue eyes were solemn, drained, and her gaze towards her sister was averted to the lap of her gorgeously sewn kimono. It was guilt – a sister's guilt.
The Hoki patriarch glowered down from his seat at the high end of the hall. "As you carry with you a defective Sharingan, you are too much of a disgrace to carry on the mantle as the heiress to the Hōki clan. Therefore, from this day onward, your sister Hakuto is to be the heiress."
"But father, I -!"
"I am your leader! You are a subject! Don't you dare question my rule!" He cut her off, shouting as he thundered to his feet. "You are hereby bequeathed to the new heiress as her bodyguard, as it is the only position I can give you that won't disgrace us further. You are to never marry – never have progeny – and you are to answer to the will of our clan. Is that clear?"
Shijima resigned, lowering her head to mask her rage. "…I will do as the patriarch commands."
And Nomasaki's vision blurred for a final time.
She heard Shijima's thoughts aloud as if speaking to her directly.
"You are not my father… You are a monster…"
Nomasaki blinked and gasped as the rays of scattered sunlight returned to her vision.
She stepped back, gathering what she witnessed in the brief lapse of time. She saw Shijima's entire life in a mere few seconds in reality. The notion made her head spin, nearly provoking dizziness, but her grounded feet kept her steady. But the shock and grief she felt upon returning overcame her, washing over her like a wave of misery. She eyed Shijima and saw that her bodyguard felt it, too. Shijima was taking laboured breaths, her hands on her shaking knees, and her red eyes widened and locked to the ancient stone at their feet.
The kunoichi were equally distraught, horrified.
"Was that…?" Nomasaki hesitated, guilt swelling into her chest. "Shijima, I'm so sorry -,"
"Stop! Stop…" Shijima's breath hitched, quelling her shouts. She gasped for air, the panic and horror eating away at her. She shuddered. "That was… Memory Intrusion. I'm… surprised you managed to get that far back through my thoughts…"
"Your father was a monster! And Orochimaru -," Nomasaki stopped herself. "You told me you were kidnapped by Orochimaru, and yet your father… He willingly -!" She stopped herself again, and the sobs choked back on her breath. She lowered her head, resting her hands on her knees to calm herself. "Shijima, I'm sorry… Neither of us seems to have been blessed with cheerful upbringings."
Shijima breathed slowly, allowing herself to straighten her back. "No, unfortunately not." She tied the sealed cloth over her eyes, resigning herself to blindness. She turned towards Nomasaki, a faint line of a smile on her lips. "I'm at least glad these eyes have proven useful for regaining your powers… These eyes have been nothing but a curse. A stain on my body that won't come off no matter how hard I try… like a curse seal."
A curse seal, Nomasaki repeated in her thoughts. Her heart sank, knowing the feeling all too well. She clenched her fists, strength surging through her veins. "I'll get your eyes back,"
"My lady -?!"
"You've helped me regain something I've lost, and I'll help you do the same." A light smile was on Nomasaki's lips – honest and grateful. "When my powers return, I'll find that wretched snake and give you back your eyes!" Her smile faded, a shared sympathy in her violet gaze. "You shouldn't be allowed to suffer this way… It's not fair."
Shijima shook her head. "You don't have to, Nomasaki-sama. I would never in a thousand years ask anyone to approach the snake willingly on my behalf! You don't need to -,"
"No need to ask." Nomasaki met her bewilderment with a stern glare. A mountain, unmoving. "I have unsettled business with that thing anyway."
The gesture nearly brought Shijima to tears.
Accepting her sworn lady's wishes, she nodded.
"As you say, Nomasaki-sama. Thank you…"
A chakra approached, pulling Nomasaki's attention.
"Nomasaki-sama,"
It was Maki.
"Maki-senpai!" Nomasaki called to her from below. "Any news?"
Above on the inner balcony, Maki nodded. "We've made a breakthrough!"
Maki brought the two kunoichi to the Sealing Corps library.
Guards kept watch at every entrance and window to protect the Kazekage's wife and keep unwanted eavesdroppers out. Books, documents, and coveted collections reached the sandstone ceiling and lined every shelf and crevice imaginable. The library in the Sealing Corps was Nomasaki's favourite – second to the library she shared with Gaara at home. The only Suna-nin present were the diligent scribes, archivists, ciphers, and translators, their lives devoted to preserving and protecting the written word. Months ago, Nomasaki gave Maki and the Sealing Corps permission to translate the remaining text of the Yamamori scroll. Fortunately, the language of the 'desert tongue' was not entirely lost. A relic secured in Sunagakure in years past played a major role in decoding the ancient language, but the work was tedious and often lasted long into the night. Nomasaki would check their progress, but not much was made in recent months.
That was, until today – hopefully.
Haste in her steps, Nomasaki followed Maki as she led them to a table in the far distant corner, lit by an aged desk lamp and covered in photocopies, reference books, and barely legible written notes. A team of four medical-masked translators scanned each character of the scroll with vinyl gloves as if touching the ancient scroll would make it disintegrate into dust. It made Nomasaki uncomfortable, realizing she had touched it once with her naked hands. Their fingers grazed the scroll and the adjacent documents fluidly, and every moment or so, one of them would etch something in their notes.
Maki stood by, watching proudly. "We've translated most of the remaining text, but there appear to be sections with a knowledge gap. Perhaps you might recognize something, Nomasaki-sama?"
The translators stopped, each turning back.
Even the room became more silent.
A pin could drop, disrupting everything.
Some of them flinched at the appearance of Nomasaki, bowing their heads to her arrival. She swallowed the anxiety that fluttered in her throat and drew close to see what they were working on. The scroll was in view. Sitting in the only chair, she placed her hands delicately on the table's surface and attempted to read the scattered translations and gibberish sprawled before her eyes.
Her purple eyes flitted from one end of the mess to the other, taking it all in.
She began to read what she saw aloud. "'If one must undergo the binding of the spirit to appease the Gods of the Mountain, the Chosen must perform a Blood Oath at the cardinal hour… wherein the Gods may use the Chosen as their conduit',"
One of the translators pointed to a distant piece. "It continues,"
Nomasaki saw and nodded. "Ah, yes. Let's see…" She cleared her throat and began reading again. "'…If the Chosen wishes to perform the Blood Oath, it must be done so under the Gods' Moon… for the bridge of life and death will be joined in marriage'…" She blinked, realizing it had come to an end. "It stops here,"
A translator sighed, leaning over the table and resting their gloved hands on its surface. "The rest of the scroll was eaten by moths, it seems." They snickered under their medical mask, appearing to smile. "We would send for a restoration team from the archival division, but we worry that we might accidentally destroy this ancient relict."
Ancient is right, Nomasaki thought.
Maki was perplexed. "Any thoughts, my lady?"
Nomasaki sighed, her brow creased in thought. "I never heard of this Gods' Moon… Do we have any charts for the moon cycles?"
"Yes, right here." A translator pushed the worn chart down from near the lamp. Upon seeing it, Nomasaki gasped, and her eyes grew wide. "What is it?"
"The largest and brightest moon is here – during the autumn equinox," Nomasaki stood from the table, slapping her hands against the worn-down wood. "That's it!"
"My lady?"
Nomasaki flipped through the scattered sheets and notes frivolously, her eyes scanning each and every word she could find. The spark had moved. Excitement boiled in her chest, and a smile not of her own making was stretched upon her open lips, her fangs shining in the lamplight. She felt as if a scientist making a breakthrough.
"The bridge of life and death, the moon – it's during Setsujin! Setsujin is held at the same time as when Yamagakure celebrates the fall harvest… so the Gods' Moon must be a Harvest Moon!" She turned to the translators eagerly. "What date is the Harvest Moon?"
A translator found it, pointing their finger at the paper. "October 1,"
Nodding, Nomasaki turned on her heel and began pacing. Her hand was locked on her chin, her fingers grazing her lips. Excitement turned to determination, and determination turned to stoicism. Her breath rose in her chest, the weight of the reality resting upon her.
"Then I have five months to prepare…" She lamented. "There remains much to be done,"
Setsujin made all the sense in the world.
Memories of the last Setsujin festivities she attended gnawed at her thoughts. Even more, was the memory of the mummer's song. The song of the she-wolf demon who tricked a lord's son into siring her pups. A song sung by a bitter mummer to disgrace the Kazekage and his foreign-born bride. Anger flashed briefly, but she blinked it away in thought. Instead, she chose to remember the colourful and ornate masks children and festivalgoers wore on that night – the night when day and night were equal when the mortal and spirit worlds converged.
A night where gods and demons of the desert were worshipped.
Maki was still not convinced. "But the part about life and death – what does that mean?"
Life and death, two sides of the same coin, Nomasaki remembered, One can't exist without the other… like light and dark. Day and night… an equinox makes perfect sense. She paused by the nearest empty table, her fingers grazing the upholstered chair. "Legends say that the realms separating the living from the dead are the closest during Setsujin," Her gaze saddened, her hand grasping the chair's crown. "It makes so much sense with the ritual… I wouldn't have believed it at first if I hadn't spoken with Karura-sama then."
"Karura-sama? Gaara-sama's mother?" Maki stood, taken aback. Karura of the Kurogane clan had been dead for over twenty years. She wondered if the Kazekage's wife had gone mad from all the research and memory recollection. Nomasaki-sama isn't making any sense… She's no doubt exhausted. "My lady, she's -,"
"I know,"
Never had Nomasaki mentioned her meeting with Karura.
Not even Gaara knew.
To one who would not understand, it would have sounded foolish. But for someone like her – who had nature-energy in her veins, it was a rare occurrence to speak with the dearly departed. It was only something mortals would speak of in folktales and stories. If Nomasaki said it out loud, no doubt those around her would begin to think she had gone mad. But she said so without thinking, catching the Suna-nin off guard.
The only shinobi not fazed was Shijima – because she understood.
Nomasaki turned, but after meeting their blank expressions, she somberly averted her gaze back to the chair. "But she came to me in a dream during Setsujin, and she told me how to use the blood-sealing placed on me – by becoming the vessel and the toll. It's because of her that I survived the curse… and that Kyokuro was able to be born."
Maki stepped closer. "My lady,"
"It's apparently a curse and a blessing of having the ancient nature-energy in my blood. Nothing in this world ever leaves me. We are all connected, whether we like it or not. Even if we forget…" Nomasaki exhaled deeply and faced the team of translators with a stoic and stern expression. "Never mind that. Maki-senpai, about the cardinal hour… what do you make of it?"
"I'm not sure,"
A translator pondered. "Perhaps the time the Gods' Moon will be at its highest?"
Nomasaki turned urgently. "What time would that be?"
Their finger scanned the page slowly as their eyes flitted from one line to the next. Nomasaki joined them, watching over their shoulder. Their finger paused on the first date of the coming October. When Nomasaki saw, she stepped away.
"Midnight, it looks like."
"Nomasaki-sama, are you… sure about all this?" Shijima spoke at last. "I mean, the ritual is something we know almost nothing about. It's written in your clan's scroll – sure. But how do we know it will solve your chakra imbalance?"
"It has to," Nomasaki said, coming to a pause before the next table. She held her hands into her chest, clinging to hope. "It just has to work. I will die trying to become whole again…" She briefly glanced back, a hint of humour on her lips. "I'm the Wolf of the Desert, the matriarch of the proud Yamamori clan. What good is a title if I can't be what I am?" She looked back, facing the walls of books ahead. "I will perform the ritual under the full moon – at the stroke of midnight on October 1. It will determine my fate… so be it." She turned, her face washed of all emotion except sternness. "Maki-senpai,"
"Yes, my lady?"
"Can you preserve what we deciphered and begin translating this section regarding the Blood Oath? Once translated, I'll send a copy to the Mountain Temple and its priestess so we can have the preparations underway."
Maki nodded. "Yes, Nomasaki-sama. I'll get started on it right away."
Just as Nomasaki was about to tell Shijima what she planned to do next, the guards who kept sentinel over the library stepped aside, allowing a messenger from the Kazekage's estate to enter. She sensed their chakra, her gaze drifting towards the entrance at the balcony above its winding staircase of carved sandstone.
"Nomasaki-sama," The messenger called. "Gaara-sama requests your presence. He's in the gardens."
When she looked at the clock on the far-east wall, she noticed it was past dusk. The whole day had been spent training and translating. But progress had been made – and more was to follow. She thought it was funny that Gaara had finished his work earlier for once. Early enough that he was able to tend to his new greenhouse and the many seedlings he doted over as if they were more of his children. She could not help but notice the smile that curved on her lips, her cheeks blushing lightly.
Congenial duties, or was he spying with his Third Eye?
She had much to tell him and wondered if he had the same.
She looked up to the messenger, nodding once. "I'll be right there!"
Respectfully, she took her leave excitedly, with Shijima close behind.
The doors sealed shut at her back.
Shijima was dismissed from duty when they returned to the Kazekage's estate.
Initially, She was hesitant, but Nomasaki assured her that she would be safe in her husband's hands. After all, who would be better to protect her other than the Fifth Kazekage himself? Accepting her sworn lady's demands, Shijima bowed her head and felt an odd sort of happiness. Despite the formality of their partnership, Shijima felt she had grown close to Nomasaki over the few years they had known each other. It was a friendship – a friendship of duty. And the promise of Nomasaki finding and restoring Shijima's sight solidified their bond. At ease that no ill tidings would follow, Shijima retired to her apartments in the Kazekage's residence for the night.
Crickets sang, and the desert hummed as Nomasaki passed through the lush courtyard.
The gardens were budding with blooms ready for the brutal warmth of summer, and the light posts gleamed softly against the darkening sky. Guards were stationed only at the courtyard's gates far behind her path, making her wonder if Gaara suddenly felt confident that Tenbu would stay silent for at least one night. Or that he preferred the privacy and solace in the absence of their known presence.
The new greenhouse was grander than the last.
It was taller, housing three times as many plants as the old one could maintain. Gaara went as far as to hire two botanists to tend to the growths when he could not. It was filled to the brim with cacti, hybrid species, sunflowers, marigolds, irises, orchids, camellias, roses – and Gaara's favourite – snow lilies. Shrubs and palms took up the final remainder of space, covering all ground save for his wide workbench, where he kept all his gardening tools. Upon the birth of Setsuka, Nomasaki asked him if she could have some room for growing herbs – which he happily obliged and started for her as she recovered from childbirth. String lights lined the glass ceiling of the greenhouse and connected the lamps of the gardens as if a string of silent stars. Against the blue-black sky of night, it was breathtakingly beautiful.
Upon arrival, Nomasaki realized Gaara wanted to surprise her.
The botanists were absent, paid their days' due and sent home, and the stone table that sat between the open greenhouse doors and a patch of sleeping lavender was adorned in a linen tablecloth and hosted a meal for two. It was desert-spiced chicken and sauteed zucchini, shallot, and peppers with couscous – her favourite meal in Sunagakure. A bottle of sake from Yama was on the table, and between the two plates was a snow lily flanked with lilac in a glass vase. Gaara went above and beyond to make the night special. It reminded her of when they first started dating after the tumultuous confession on the snowy mountaintop. A time when everything seemed to be at peace – quiet.
And the only chakra she could sense was their own.
At last, they had solitude with each other.
The meal was delicious, and she knew from the start that Gaara must have prepared it himself. They asked one another about their day, chatting between bites and sips of sake. Nomasaki paced herself, only drinking two cups. Eight was her limit, she remembered. Even Gaara went as far as to drink, meeting each sip of sake with a gulp of water. He could not stand the taste or smell, but it was a special night, so he decided to give in.
And soon enough, their plates were nearly empty.
Gaara breathed a laugh. "You know, you continue to surprise me,"
Nomasaki looked up, seeing him smirk to himself as he gazed at his fork against the last of his couscous. She smiled back, inquisitively leaning her head to her shoulder and placing her hands on her lap. "How so?"
He glanced up, eyes proud. "I heard your training with Shijima was a success today."
"News travels fast, I see." She leaned back into her cushioned chair, sighing her tired shoulder muscles. She blinked his way, smirking back. "Unless… you saw it for yourself?"
Briefly, he shared her smile. "Some," He averted his glance back to his near-empty plate, his smile fading and ringed-eyes lost in the chaos of thought. "I had… pressing matters to attend to."
Nomasaki stiffened slightly, her face drawn to alert. She hoped there was no bad news. All they ever were accustomed to was bad news. Hesitantly, she put her last guess forward. "Was it the upcoming Chunin Exams again?"
Gaara shook his head, sighing frustratedly. If only it was just that… "Not exactly. We're going to Konoha," He revealed. "The exams are just a front. Just so the council doesn't get too involved. We're dealing with a highly skilled traitor and diplomat, and he has a hostage – two hostages, if Matsuri can still be recovered. We must tread carefully, and the Hokage would be a great help."
Her head lowered, gold hair masking her expression. She fiddled her fork against some stubborn zucchini, hoping he would not see her disappointment. "I see…"
Sand touched her palm, and she realized Gaara held his hand over hers.
His touch was soft and soothing, massaging the back of her worn hand on her lap. The grainy texture cleansed her of her worries. He always did his best to calm her. Gaara met her surprised glance with unwavering devotion – love in all its protective forms.
"We'll solve this soon. Tenbu will be stopped."
A sob dared to choke itself in her throat.
She pushed it down, nodding once. "It's… not that," She lowered her gaze back to her lap, pondering all she had learned. "I think I know a way to free my brother, but… it can only work if he uses genjutsu. I need to show him – make him see that his life was a lie. That my life – our life – is what's real and true."
Gaara stared at her, perplexed.
"What I used on my dark side in the sacred chambers… it was something called Memory Reflection. If I can use that on Temujin, he might come to our cause." Doubt and fear clung to her, provoking her voice to quiver at her lips. "But… that seal on his heart -,"
He held her hand gently and firmly. "We can ask Kakashi. He might know."
She nodded, pushing back all the tears that dared to swim from her eyes. She blinked back to her plate and scoffed a smile at the remaining pieces of chicken and sauteed peppers. It overcame her, the urge to laugh. Warmth filled her chest, distracting her from the duties waiting in the coming weeks ahead.
A subtle snicker from her lips caught his attention. "What is it?"
"There's sand in my food,"
Gaara breathed out a laugh, humoured and warmed.
In a swift breeze of sand, he appeared as she stood. Embracing her lovingly, their lips met under the string lights. A smile curved on her blushing face as they parted, and he could not help but do the same. Nomasaki was the only one who could make Gaara genuinely laugh – and he was forever grateful. As if falling in love for the first time, the two joked and laughed as they made their way inside the greenhouse, arms linked.
Gaara released her once they stepped inside, allowing Nomasaki to take in all the different flowers and shrubs he was cultivating. She breathed in and smelt all the fragrances – the soothing scent of freshly watered plants. It reminded her of a rainforest, a place she had only ever seen in books or on television. She marvelled at his work, awed by the colourful blooms that were beginning to birth.
He walked to her side, gingerly moving a stray golden strand from her cheek and feeling her silken hair in his fingers. She turned, meeting his wondrous gaze that held everlasting love and affection. Protection. Devotion. Promise. Even a mere gaze from him was overwhelming, leaving her fragile and silent. Only for him did her shy nature ever dare to peek through.
He grazed her blushing cheek, awed by her presence. "I never once thought it was possible to love someone the way I love you,"
A warm smile curved on her lips. She grasped his hand, resting her cheek on his sand-ridden touch. "We were destined to torment each other. The red thread that binds us is still pretty strong… I have no doubts."
"Destined, cursed…" He smiled back, cherishing her. "Nothing matters but this,"
Softly, they kissed under the cover of greenery.
Gaara cupped her face in his strong, callused hands, his lips soft as they brushed hers. Her heart pulling him closer, she swung her arms around his neck and returned his affections as gently as her fangs allowed. She loved him more than anything and wanted to be close as infinitely as possible. And he seemingly felt the same, unwilling to surrender her just yet. There was no other chakra – only their own. Not a soul lingered. All that surrounded them was a glass rainforest and a night sky.
When their lips parted, Nomasaki eyed him with a doe-like gaze of lilac. "Can I ask you something?"
"Depends," He smirked, resting his hands on her waist. "Is it about the sand in your food?"
A laugh brushed her lips, quelled by her sudden shyness. She blushed brightly, averting her glance. "I was wondering… since my birthday is coming up in a few days, could we… take the chakra rod for a test run?" She felt his grip flinch upon her. Looking up and seeing his ringed-eyes widen slightly, she waved her hands frantically. Frazzled by his nervousness. "No more babies, please! I'm done breeding! In this life, anyways."
He breathed a laugh, assured.
"Is that what you want?"
Her nightshade eyes glanced into his intent gaze, her voice soft. "Yes,"
It took mere seconds to find themselves in embrace again.
Under the lights that shone like stars, they let their urges come to fruition. Gaara kissed her with utmost passion, placing a hand carefully onto the small of her back and pulling her closer. Hunger propelled Nomasaki to return the favour with a hint of force, prompting her lover to grab a fistful of golden hair as it bunched on the nape of her neck. She gingerly placed her hands along his jawline, feeling his muscles clench and release as he met her hunger in full. Only small gasps for air separated them, unable to pull themselves apart from the moment that beckoned.
A fire erupted in Gaara's chest.
As delicately as he could manage amongst the passion, he pushed her lightly against the workbench at her back. Their lips parted, their breathing hitched and hot. Even the glass had begun to cloud. He saw her chest rising with each heaving breath of lust, her nightshade eyes shining under the lights and wide as they met his. He kept a hand on her cheek, gripping the workbench with the other. His thumb grazed her blushing face, his ringed-eyes of turquoise not leaving hers for a second.
A sly smile formed on his lips. "Should we go up to the bedroom?"
"Here is fine," She gave a sultry glance, a wolf's gaze. She gripped his shoulders, indicating what she wanted. She could barely contain herself further. And it seemed it was what he wanted, too. "We can go up when we're done… and start again,"
He put his forehead to hers, feeling her breath. "That can be arranged,"
Nomasaki giggled as he lifted her onto the workbench.
Its steel frame sent a chill to her spine, heightening her senses. She embraced him as their lips met under the dimmed lights. Fangs grew inside her jaws, her insatiable desire blocking every instinct. She wanted him more than ever – and she wanted him in the greenhouse. The bedroom could wait. It could always wait for them. But at this moment, she wanted nothing more than to be his.
Sliding his hand from her back to her thigh, Gaara leaned against her and gorged on her hunger, her desire to be close. Sand thrust the greenhouse doors closed, leaving them in the darkness to be as carnal as they wished. His breath was hot against her skin as he brushed his lips on her neck and collarbone, his callused hands swimming over her and hastily pushing open her dress to feel her warmth – her skin.
Never had impulsivity been so carnal.
It reminded Gaara of that time in his office when they broke the desk – when Kyokuro was conceived. The creaking of the wood, her laughter as it went on, and their foreheads meeting, wet and breathless. Emotions ran high, their affections turning forceful. They met each other's eyes amongst their heated passion, seeing the love they each held. Words could not fathom the affection they had, growing stronger as time passed.
"We won't break it," Gaara whispered, the words caressing her lips. "It's tampered steel."
Nomasaki breathed a laugh, drawing closer to his flame. "We'll see,"
He laughed, silencing himself as he put his lips to hers.
It was not long until the entire greenhouse fogged.
Under the cover of rainforest and a black night sky, they gave in to their carnal urges. Nomasaki tried to stay as quiet as she could to not provoke the guards who lurked in the distant courtyard beyond the gates as Gaara thrust into her roughly. Her legs held him close, clinging to him at each scrape the steel rang against the stone. Gaara was right – the tampered steel was impervious, even to them.
She was thankful for that.
Nearing the end, Gaara silenced her approaching cries of please with a kiss laced with utmost passion. He felt his body shudder roughly against her exposed porcelain skin, grunting out as he climaxed. Nomasaki held his face to her chest, and they embraced, sensing the warmth they gave. He looked up, seeing her sweaty smile and marvelling at its presence.
He loved her so much.
They ended up in the bedroom, fornicating to their hearts' content and where they were free to be as loud and raucous as they wanted. It had been a while since they shared such a passionate night, and they were thankful they had the time to spend together. Nomasaki wanted nothing more than to love Gaara in every way possible, and she was warmed he wanted the same – nothing less.
The moon was high in the starry skies that night, beaming through the bedroom's window as they lay asleep, entwined as a mess of naked limbs.
Entwined and blissful.
Notes: I can't believe I used the word "fornicate"... such an awkward, horrendous word
(lmao)